All Things Move Toward Their End

I was walking up that damn hill for the last time, cursing the course designers for making all three loops end with this same arduous climb.  I could hear twigs snapping behind me and I knew I needed to step onto the brush to let someone who was actually running pass me on the single-track trail.  To add insult to injury, the air was so dry that the fine dirt particles she kicked up in her wake flew into my mouth.  I was literally eating her dust. 

When I neared the top of the hill, I saw a photographer lounging under an umbrella snap to attention.  I assured him his effort was unnecessary.  I couldn’t muster up the energy to fake-run for the camera and I didn’t care for any documentation of my slouching, pitiful self.  Despite my protests, he began to snap away, and for a moment I could sympathize with celebrities leaving airports with paparazzi zooming in on their crusty, travel-worn faces.  I certainly felt crusty and travel-worn, although technically I had gone nowhere since we were actually running in circles.   Though I was tired and irritated, vanity took over.  I did not want a picture of me walking.  There are times when pride is my only motivation and this was one of them.  I started running.

A million thoughts flew through my mind as I ran that last quarter-mile: how excited I was to be done with my part of the race, a personal sense of accomplishment for finishing an extra leg (albeit the shortest), concern that it was really heating up and many more teammates had multiple legs left, worry about how long it would take for all of us to finish, wondering if eleven AM was too early for a beer.

As I ran down the chute, I saw M waiting in the transition tent.  As I took our team bib off over my head (the belt elastic was broken, and a lot of us ended up having to wear our race number like a beauty pageant sash), M told me a new plan was being proposed to finish earlier.  As she ran off to complete her trifecta, the rest of the team met me outside the transition tent.

We settled in the makeshift mess hall, the shadiest part of the village.  A asked what I thought of simply not filling the two extra legs that should have been run by the people who dropped out.  He referenced our road relay team last year when my friend's family emergency forced us to be down a runner.  One of the options the race organizers gave us was to simply sit out the projected time it would have taken her to run her distances.  Considering it was the same company producing this race, we figured that the policy would apply this time around as well.

While I was running, A and the others asked the race organizers if sitting out the legs would disqualify our team.  The people they spoke to assured us it wouldn’t.  Considering so many teams were doubling up and the timing rubric was thrown all out of whack because of it, it seemed reasonable that the organizers would be loose with the official results.

I was still coming down from my high from finishing my last leg.  My day was done, and all that was left for me was to wait.  If not doing the two extra legs shortened my time sitting in the hot Tahoe sun, that was fine with me.  It was getting much warmer, and the legs left were so long and hard.  It seemed unfair to ask anyone do them.

Once the decision was made, we started to mobilize and breakdown our camp.  A noticed a tarp had folded over our team sign obscuring the top line.  Instead of “Eight No Mountain High Enough” all that could be seen of our name was “High Enough”.  I’m not sure if that more aptly described all our sleep-deprived mental states, or the fact that, at least this time, the mountain beat us.

Many teams who doubled up and finished early had already left.  The campsite was quickly thinning out, leaving behind the empty parking lot that it was thirty-six hours before.  Even with only twenty-two legs, we still didn’t finish till almost 5:00 PM.  I was showered, well-fed and sleeping in a king-size bed three hours later.  I was glad we decided to tap out when we did.

Much to my dismay, one week later our official results were released on the race website as DNF.  

Initially I was angry at the organizers for having misled us, but I have since come to realize that it doesn’t matter.  I do not regret the experience.  It sucks that for internet posterity our team will be listed as not having finished, but I know what we accomplished and I’m proud of myself and our team.  I’ll never forget the literal highs (riding up the chair lift, dealing with the minimal oxygen at elevation) and the figurative lows (dealing with flaky teammates).  I’ll never forget fighting through extreme fatigue, sitting at the camp with old and new friends, and the look on A’s face as he trotted down the chute after his exhilarating night run.

I would do it all over again, although hopefully next time with a full team.  Even though we did not finish, there is still Eight No Mountain High Enough.